


Silver

by Robespierre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, M/M, ice hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robespierre/pseuds/Robespierre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leon and Arthur lead the men of Team Albion to their first gold medal game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver

_This is it._

He isn’t dying, and his life isn’t passing before his eyes, but _this is it_. 

Albion hasn’t even _qualified_ for the Olympics for more than ninety years, and this is the shot that’s going to determine the gold medal winner. 

In the microsecond it takes to scan the ice and realize that it’s going to be him who takes this shot, Leon is flooded with memories, each of them woven together by the hopes and dreams of his team and his country.  

* * *

It began nearly twenty years earlier, when a young Arthur Pendragon showed up to his first hockey practice with the Camelot Knights.  Leon remembers him as a tiny blond tornado, fiercely determined to prove to everyone that it was his talent and not his status as prince of Albion that earned him a place on the team.

They had grown up together: Leon and Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, Percy, Lance, Elyan, and the rest of the Knights.  Coach Gaius, a man with no real professional experience, had somehow forged them into Albion’s premier team. 

Leon had been named captain of the Knights when he and Arthur were ten years old, and he had been their captain ever since, no matter their team name.  Everyone had always expected Arthur to grow into a leadership position on the team, and shortly after announcing that he was renouncing his title as prince to focus on a hockey career, he was offered the captaincy.  He declined, telling the team and the media that he was content to focus on playing the game and that Leon was the one who was meant to lead them.   

They came out of nowhere (at least according to sports reporters) and won World Juniors.  From that day on, their lives changed dramatically.  Scouts from professional leagues in countries from all around the world were suddenly courting them.  Each of them was offered numerous lucrative contracts.  They had gone from being nobodies to some of the most sought-after players in the world. 

A country that had never cared about ice hockey became fans overnight.  As the Knights (because they never stopped thinking of themselves as the Knights) carefully considered their futures, the citizens of Albion held their collective breath and hoped that their young stars would elect to stay at home and revitalize Albion’s professional ice hockey league – a league that most citizens had not even realized existed until weeks earlier. 

Unfortunately, all of them elected to leave.  Gwaine and Percival moved to Russia to play in the KHL, and the rest signed with various teams in North America’s National Hockey League.  The Knights were now rivals. 

Leon was days away from moving to the United States to join his new teammates when a freak highway accident claimed both of his parents and made him guardian of his three siblings, aged ten, twelve, and fourteen.  He refused to abandon his sisters and brother to well-meaning but distant relatives, and he couldn’t ask them to leave the only home they had ever known, so some quick renegotiating had him giving up on the NHL and signing with Camelot’s professional team. 

He never stopped thinking about what could have been, but he buried it under hours and hours of extra practice, more time in the gym, and the joy of watching his siblings grow up. 

He followed his friends’ careers in the NHL and cheered along as first Arthur, then Merlin won the Stanley Cup.  At first, the Knights tried to keep in touch, but after a few years, they began to settle in their new homes and only managed to exchange a few emails or texts a few times a year. 

Leon was happy at home, though.   He wasn’t conceited enough to believe it was all because of him, but Albion’s national league grew in popularity.  Camelot won the national title three times in five years, and players from other countries even began moving to Albion to play hockey.

Albion started a developmental program designed to train young players for professional careers.  Leon was its official spokesperson and spent much of the off-season lending a hand in recruitment and training. 

Life was good. 

Through it all, he had never once stopped to think about the Olympics.  But when Albion placed fifth and fourth in Worlds the last two years, they earned a spot in the tournament. 

They shocked a nation by defeating Sweden in the first round of qualifying.  And they just kept winning.  The team that no one had predicted would even place in the top six had breezed through the semifinals and quarterfinals to earn a place in the gold medal game.  

* * *

It hadn’t started well.  When the horn sounded at the end of the first period, Canada was leading Albion 3-0.  Perhaps they had been cocky, going into the game overconfident from their earlier easy victories.  Gaius hadn’t yelled at them in the locker room, but his eyebrows, raised nearly to his hairline, had spoken volumes.  He was disappointed, and no one wanted to disappoint Gaius, who had been like a second father to them all.  

They were a different team when they returned to the ice.  Arthur scored just ten seconds into the second period, and Lance netted another one for Albion just two minutes later.  Leon scored on a rebound off the goalie’s blocker that had landed right on his tape. 

The atmosphere in the locker room during the second intermission was markedly different from the first.  Gaius spoke briefly and quietly with each of them, giving everyone a pat on the head or the back of the hand before moving on to the next player.

He saved Leon for last.

“Leon, my boy, I am so proud of you.  We all are.”

The last few minutes were silent.  Each of them sat, practically vibrating with nervous energy, just waiting for the call to take the ice.  Everyone realized the enormity of their situation: the possibility of being Albion’s first hockey team to win an Olympic gold medal. 

“This is it, boys,” was the only thing that Leon could think of to say as they lined up in the hallway.  “This is it.”

Everyone hit the ice determined to break the tie, playing like men possessed.  Both teams’ defensemen were playing so well that neither Albion nor Canada managed to get a shot on goal for almost five full minutes.  The constant grind was taking a toll on all of them; despite the lack of shots, both teams were moving the puck constantly.  It was inevitable that someone would make a mistake.

Lance angled a pass across open ice to Arthur, but Mordred just suddenly _appeared_ , as if by magic.  He swooped in and began a breakaway that had the crowd screaming.  Leon knew that Mordred’s shootout percentage was close to a hundred, and resigned himself to seeing Canada go up a goal on them.      

But the light didn’t go off.  Instead, the referee’s whistle sounded as Merlin (wonderful, fantastic Merlin) closed his glove neatly around the puck. 

Unfortunately, it was a turning point for the Canadians.  Now that they had managed to get a shot off, momentum was on their side and they began to chip away at Albion’s defense.  It was only Merlin’s stellar goaltending that kept them alive.  For the majority of the third period, Canada simply outplayed them.  Albion was fighting not to win, but just to stay in the game. 

Merlin couldn’t be expected to be flawless, however, and with a minute to go, Morded managed to fire off a shot that just skated under Merlin’s blocker and into the net. 

Gaius called Albion’s timeout, though there wasn’t much to say.  All of them knew that they had to score, and they had to score _now_.  This wasn’t a time for carefully designed plays – it was time to fire as many shots as possible at the net. 

Leon couldn’t do much more than reiterate Gaius’ points as they headed back onto the ice. 

“Let’s go.  No stupid penalties.  Keep your heads up.  We can do this!”

“For Albion!” Arthur shouted, his voice loud enough to be heard by the spectators nearby. 

Gradually, the crowd picked up the chant.  “AL-BI-ON!  AL-BI-ON!”  By the time the referees summoned them back to center ice, the noise was deafening. 

Leon won the faceoff, sending the puck bouncing to Gwaine, who dumped it in along the boards.  Arthur muscled past two Canadian defenders to take possession behind the net.  Lance spun away from his defender just in time to get his stick on Arthur’s pass and tap it in, aiming glove-side low (their goalie’s one weakness, according to scouting reports). 

Unfortunately, the goalie managed to deflect it with the tip of his glove.  It shot back out toward Percival, who attempted a slapshot that deflected off a defender’s body.  Arthur had an opening, but it went wide. 

“Empty net!” Leon heard.  Gaius had pulled Merlin to get an extra man on the ice.  Elyan’s voice joined the other Albion players’, all of them shouting “Open!” or “Pass!” or “Shoot!” 

No one could control the puck.  It pinballed around as Albion took shot after shot,Canada’s goalie never able to capture it, and the defenders never able to clear it out of their zone. 

“Twenty!” came the shouts from the bench as their teammates called out the time remaining.  Percival’s shot went wide and bounced back toward center ice. 

Right in front of the blue line, Leon caught up to the skittering puck just as he heard someone shout his name.  Before he even realized what was happening, he was _smashed_ into the boards from behind.  His face caught an uneven seam on the plexiglass as his body was dragged to the ice by the weight of the other player. 

As he fell, he heard the welcome sound of a whistle.  A penalty was being called on Canada. 

Compared to other hits he had been on the receiving end of for nearly twenty years, this one was not particularly bad; in fact, he was more stunned than he was hurt.  From his uncomfortably twisted landing position on the ice, he dropped a glove and brought his hand to his cheek, grinning savagely when he discovered that he was not bleeding.  Bleeding meant that he would have to leave the ice, and he certainly wasn’t ready to do that now that they were going to go a man up.

He glanced at the scoreboard.  Only nine seconds to go.  Nine seconds in which they _had_ to score or their gold medal dream would be over.    

Arthur skated over to help him to his feet.  “We can do this,” he said, knocking their helmeted foreheads together.  “You know we can.”

Leon didn’t know how to respond, so he simply cupped the back of Arthur’s helmet in his hand, keeping their heads pressed together.  He stared directly into Arthur’s blue eyes for what felt like hours, but could only have been seconds as the referee called Leon into the faceoff circle.   

The crowd was screaming so loudly that Leon couldn’t hear anything the referee was saying, but it didn’t matter.  He was attempting to block out everything from his surroundings and focus solely on winning the faceoff.

When the puck dropped, it was almost like it was happening in slow motion.  It felt like he had all the time in the world to get his stick on it and flip it back to Percival.  Percy, realizing that there was no defender behind him, stopped the puck and skated past it, leaving it for Leon while drawing the defensive coverage away. 

Leon scanned the ice and realized that there was no one in a position to take a shot.  No one but him, that was.  It was all up to him now. 

* * *

He’s all alone on the ice.  Percy’s play has given him the perfect shooting lane.  All he has to do is beat the goalie to send the game into overtime and keep their gold medal hopes alive. 

He fakes to the right, just enough to get the goalie to lean in that direction, and shoots. 

It’s a high, fast, beautiful shot.  The goalie can’t get a hand on it as it sails through the air and –

_Clank_!

The puck hits the post and bounces harmlessly toward center ice. 

The horn sounds.  It’s over. 

They’ve lost.  

* * *

He doesn’t cry.  He lines up for the handshake and congratulates Canada’s captain.  During the medal ceremony, he dimly registers his teammates’ pats on the shoulder, dulled through the pads and the wall he is building around himself to keep from breaking down. 

He tries to smile when the silver is slipped around his neck, but he’s sure it looks more like a grimace. 

Canada’s national anthem plays, and most of the Canadians have tears in their eyes.     

He didn’t realize it would hurt this much to be standing on the platform, listening to another country’s anthem.  He’s dimly aware that he should be grateful to have made it this far, but his heart is screaming _so close so close so close_ so loudly that it’s all he can hear.

He heads for the locker room, constantly aware of the cameras trained on his face.  He suffers through the media scrum so that his teammates won’t have to do it, spouting platitudes like, “It just wasn’t our day,” and “The better team won.”  He makes sure to congratulate the Canadians on behalf of the entire team so that no one can accuse them of being unsportsmanlike. 

There are bars to visit and parties to attend all over the city, but he elects not to participate.  Instead, he takes a taxi back to his room in the Olympic Village.  The driver recognizes him and asks for an autograph but is polite enough to leave him to his own thoughts. 

Only when he gets back to his room, the room that he shares with Arthur, does he finally cry.  Tears start rolling down his cheeks and blur his vision as he opens the door, and it takes every bit of energy he has left to strip down to his shorts and climb into bed.    

The stillness makes everything worse.  He has nothing to do but play that awful moment over and over in his head and think about how he’s let everyone down.  The team, Gaius, his family, shit – he’s let down _an entire country_! 

It feels like he’s going to shatter into a million pieces as the sobs tear out of his throat.  All he can do is clutch his pillow, scream out his frustration, and wait for exhaustion to take him.  

* * *

He wakes to the feeling of fingers gently running through his hair.

“Arthur?”

His voice is wrecked from the screaming during the game and the crying after. 

“Hey, Leon,” Arthur says, continuing to sift through Leon’s curls.  “Are you okay?”

Leon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, getting himself ready for what he knows he has to say. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Arthur doesn’t respond immediately, and Leon immediately imagines the worst.  Arthur is so upset that he can’t even bear to _talk_ to him, let alone forgive him.  How can he even hope to face the rest of the world if his teammate and closest friend can’t even speak to him?

Arthur, still not saying anything, takes his hand away from Leon’s head.  Leon whimpers at the loss of that small comfort, but Arthur had only moved his hand so that he could lie down next to him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him so that they face each other. 

When he finally speaks, he pressed his forehead to Leon’s.  This gesture, so like what they had shared earlier on the ice, is what brings tears to his eyes again. 

“Never say that.”  Arthur’s whisper is harsh, and Leon is confused. 

“But it’s my fault that we lost, Arthur!  I _had_ that shot, I had the goalie beat, and I just…”

“Leon, no.”  Arthur pulls away from him so that they can meet each other’s eyes.  “This is not your fault.  It’s a _team_ sport. We did this together.  And we did so much more than anyone ever expected us to.” 

He began to brush his thumb in small circles against Leon’s bare bicep.     

“I’m so fucking proud of all of us right now.  And you – you’re the one who led us here.  You’re the one who stayed in Albion and made our country respect the game.  You played like a beast in this tournament, and you brought us to the _Olympic finals_ , Leon.  You have nothing to apologize for.”

Arthur’s not angry?  How is that possible when Leon’s fucked up so monumentally? 

“But I should have –”

Arthur cuts him off.  “Please stop.  I can’t stand to see you so sad, Leon.”

He looks down and takes a deep breath.  “Do you think…can I just – ” and before Leon realizes what’s happening, Arthur leans in and kisses him. 

For a few seconds, Leon is too shocked to react.  Arthur’s lips are soft against his, as though he’s unsure of how Leon will react, and when he feels Leon’s hesitation, he starts to pull away. 

That’s the moment that Leon’s brain chooses to come back online, and he grabs Arthur’s shirt to pull him back in. 

The kiss is deep and desperate and _amazing_ and everything he ever hoped it would be.  In this moment, all is right with the world, and Leon finally has what he’s always wanted.  Life is perfect.   

Because somewhere along the way, Leon fell in love.  Not with the game (he had loved hockey from the first moment he put on skates), but with Arthur.  How could anyone _not_ fall for Arthur, he had often wondered.  He was handsome, kind, a good teammate, and he had the cockiest grin that Leon had ever seen.  He was a good friend, an amazing hockey player, and Leon had missed him like a missing limb the entire time he had been in the United States. 

Hockey is everything to them all, but in Leon’s mind, hockey and Arthur are one and the same.  The only thing that Leon has ever loved more than winning is winning with Arthur. 

Having Arthur here, in his bed, kissing him, is nothing short of bliss.  It’s what he’s wanted for as long as he knew what it was to want someone; there’s been nobody for him but Arthur since they were children.  And now Arthur wants him, and Leon can’t help but smile into the kiss.   

“That’s it,” Arthur breathes, “let me see that smile.  You feel better now?” 

_Oh, no_.  Arthur doesn’t want him – he’s just trying to cheer him up. 

That Arthur can do this to him, that he can give Leon what he’s always wanted like it means _nothing_ , like it’s something he would do to help anybody who was upset – it destroys him.  Those brief moments when he thought Arthur would be his were nothing  but Arthur being a good friend, being so fucking _noble_ that he would take one for the team and kiss someone he had no interest in just to see him smile. 

Arthur’s selflessness is one of the hundreds of things that makes Leon loves him, but tonight it’s destroying him. 

“ _Get out_ ,” Leon hisses, pushing at Arthur’s chest. 

“I’m so sorry, I thought…I thought you would…I thought you wanted,” Arthur stammers.

“I don’t want your fucking pity, Arthur!  Get out!”

“But –”

Something that feels like it could turn into a scream threatens to spill from Leon’s mouth.  “I said get out, Arthur!  I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

Arthur leaves, his shoulders hunched like he’s afraid Leon is going to hit him. 

When the door closes on what was now most definitely the worst day of Leon’s life, he finds that he has no tears left.  He feels oddly empty, as though he’s lost everything. 

Maybe he has.  

* * *

He has no intention of answering the pounding on his door, but Merlin sounds upset.  It’s just hitting Leon now that he really should have talked to each of his teammates after the game, making sure that they were all okay. 

Merlin doesn’t even wait for the door to close behind him before he’s pointing a finger right in Leon’s face. 

“Why is Arthur crying and asking to sleep in my room?  He seemed fine when he left me a little while ago.”

Merlin has always defended Arthur, on the ice and off.  They are so close that every new teammate who joins them inevitably waits around after practice, uncomfortably, to ask Leon if Merlin and Arthur are a couple.

“It’s nothing,” Leon tells him, just this once wishing Merlin wasn’t such a good friend.  

“Leon, please talk to me.  I’m worried about you.”

If it had been anyone but Merlin, Leon would have been able to lie, or at least hide the truth.  But Merlin’s kindness undoes him, and he finds himself spilling the whole story.

“…and I’ve loved him for so long but he doesn’t even think about me that way and I’m so pathetic that he kissed me out of pity, just to make me feel better, and how could he – ”

“Whoa, hold on,” Merlin says, actually holding his hands up in a _stop right there_ gesture. 

And he’s – he’s _laughing._

“Fuck you, Merlin!  I’m so happy to hear that the most miserable experience of my life has been able to make you laugh,” Leon snarls, livid that the one person he thought he could talk to is fucking laughing at him. 

“No, no,” Merlin sighs, still huffing out small laughs.  “You’re in love with Arthur?”

Leon never though Merlin would be capable of something like this.  Outside of a little bit of locker room trash-talking, Merlin had never once mocked him. 

Why is the whole world turning against him tonight?

“Come with me,” Merlin says, grabbing Leon’s arm.

Leon has officially lost every bit of patience he has left.  He jerks his arm from Merlin’s grasp.  “Get away from me!”

Before he can comprehend what is happening, Merlin has him backed against the wall.  “Listen to me.  I’m not making fun of you.  There is something you need to hear, and it affects us all.  So you’re going to come with me right now.”

That’s Merlin – a spine of steel supporting those awkward limbs of his.  Leon has no choice but to follow Merlin back to his room.

Arthur is curled into a ball on Merlin’s bed.  His shoulders are shaking.  All of the anger Leon expected to feel the next time he saw Arthur never materializes.  Instead, he wants to go to him, to hold him and promise him anything he can to make him stop crying. 

“Leon, sit.”

Arthur’s head shoots up.  His eyes are red and his cheeks are wet with tears. 

Something in Merlin’s tone makes Leon think that it would be in his best interest to obey, so he sits, making sure that he keeps as much distance as possible between himself and Arthur. 

“You two are the biggest dolts I have ever met.”

Both Leon and Arthur sputter their disbelief. 

“No, neither of you get to talk right now.  Just listen to me.”

He turns to Arthur.  “Leon is in love with you, and it sounds like he has been for a long time.”

“Merlin, what the hell are you – ”

“He’s obviously not because he just threw me out!”

Merlin shouts over them.  “And Arthur loves you!”

The room is completely silent.

Leon’s heart is in his throat as he slowly turns to face Arthur.  “You do?”

Arthur is nodding like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done, but when he speaks, his voice is dripping with sarcasm.  “Yes, and I thought that it was pretty fucking clear when I _kissed you_!”

_Oh_.  Has he misunderstood Arthur’s intent?  Is it possible that Arthur kissed him for no other reason than he wanted to?

He’s not sure what to say, and he glances at Merlin for confirmation.  Merlin’s tiny nod is all he needs.    

“I am…I do, Arthur.  I always have.”

Merlin chuckles, probably at Arthur’s stunned expression, and stands.  “You two stay here tonight.  I’m going down to the party.”

Neither Arthur nor Leon turn to watch him leave – they’re both too busy staring at each other. 

From the doorway, Merlin calls out, “Get some sleep, but first please _talk_ to each other.  I’m not going to let you on the plane tomorrow if you don’t have this figured out.”

The door shuts behind him, and Arthur stretches his hand across the blankets toward Leon.  Leon meets him halfway, and they grip each other’s fingers tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Leon whispers.  “I thought that you – ”   

“And I thought that _you_ –” Arthur finishes. 

Leon isn’t sure who moves, but their arms are suddenly wrapped around each other and Arthur is squeezing him like he’s never planning to let go. 

Leon’s head is spinning.  He’s gone from bitter despair to elation so many times tonight that he is completely exhausted.  Arthur must sense it (or feel the same way) because he pulls Leon down onto the bed with him, and, for the third time tonight, presses their foreheads together. 

“I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings here.  Call this my declaration of intent or whatever you like.”  Arthur takes a deep breath.  “I have always wanted to be with you, Leon.  Knowing that you feel the same way – I don’t care what kind of medal we have or if I ever win the Cup again, I feel like this is always going to be the happiest moment of my life.”

Arthur’s words hit him like a physical blow to the chest.  How can this be real?  For one insane moment, he wonders if that hit in the third period knocked him out and if he’s actually dreaming right now. 

“Leon?” Arthur asks quietly, bringing him back to the moment. 

He doesn’t know how to say everything he feels – everything he’s _always_ felt – so he elects to keep it simple. 

“I love you, my prince.” 

He doesn’t hear Arthur’s laugh, but he feels the warm puff of air against his mouth.

“You’re the only person who’s called me that for years, you know.”  He pulls back slightly, separating their foreheads and leaning in for a kiss.  “And I love you, my captain.”

This kiss is even better than their first, because both of them know exactly what it means.  Kissing Arthur is like coming home, like Christmas, like winning – it’s everything that Leon has ever wanted.  

* * *

Arthur sleeps slumped against his shoulder on the flight back home.  Word had spread fast, and each one of their teammates is taking a turn to awkwardly congratulate Leon while Arthur sleeps, or, as Leon realizes later, _pretends_ to sleep. 

“Arthur!  How could you leave me alone to face them?”

“Hey, you’re the captain.  Team dynamics are your business, not mine.”

Even this isn’t enough to dampen Leon’s spirits.  Last night, with Arthur’s help, he had come to realize that he had nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of – in one glorious day, he had achieved the world’s second-highest honor in his sport and learned that his unrequited love was anything but.  He knows that no matter what happens from today forward, he has made a nation proud and earned the love of an amazing man.      

Just before they land, Arthur pulls Leon’s medal from his bag and slips it over his neck.  Leon’s not sure why, but he keeps it on as they disembark and enter the airport, hand in hand. 

As the team makes its way to the exit, the building is unnaturally quiet.  There are no families and friends waiting for flights to land, there are no security guards, and even the concession stands that line the building appear to be unstaffed.  The silence is unsettling. 

Until they round a corner, that is, and a crowd erupts in joyous screams. 

_Thousands_ of people are waiting for them, filling the arrivals area.  A quick glance around assures Leon that all of his teammates are as moved by the display as he is, especially when they notice that the crowd is not contained to just the building, but spills out into the roads and even the parking lots.  Their bus is covered with flags and handmade signs.  

The roar of the crowd is deafening, and it only increases when airport staff ushers the team to a hastily-erected stage.  It’s a mix of their names and “Albion!” and just plain screams.  The team looks to Leon to act as representative.

He faces the crowd, one had still grabbing Arthur’s, and raises the other fist in the air.  The screams increase in volume for a moment, and then die down completely.  Everyone’s attention is on him. 

“Thank you all for coming,” he yells, still quieter than he would like because he has to work hard against the lump in his throat.  “Thank you for your support.  We couldn’t have done this without you!  Your faith in us has carried us from tournament to tournament, and every single one of you is a part of Team Albion forever.” 

The crowd goes wild, and Leon can see his own grin reflected on the faces of his teammates.  They pose for what feels like thousands of pictures, and when a photographer requests one of just Leon and Arthur, the noise level is deafening.  They smile and wave for the photographer and the crowd, Arthur’s arm around Leon’s waist. 

Just as they are getting ready to leave the stage, Leon pulls one of the photographers aside and asks her to take pictures of the crowd so that the team will always remember this moment. 

Arthur grabs him and leans in to whisper in his ear.  “You are such an amazing captain.  Don’t be mad, but I just have to do this right now.”

Leon has just a split second to be puzzled before Arthur is pulling him close and kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.  Their medals clink against each other, and Leon loses himself in the moment, high on victory and Arthur. 

When they break apart, it’s to a stunned silence.  Leon had been so focused on the press of Arthur’s lips against his that he’s forgotten about the crowd. 

There is no noise for a beat, and then the crowd erupts into ear-splitting cheers and applause.  Arthur kisses him again, harder this time.  And though it’s probably the flashes of thousands of cameras, Leon sees fireworks behind his closed eyelids. 

They are silver. 

The most beautiful color in the world.       

**Author's Note:**

> I love hockey. I love Leon/Arthur. This is the result. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Beta by Karine, though she has not seen the final draft as she has had no electricity for nearly a week. Any remaining mistakes are my own.


End file.
